Swirls of Paint
by reckless-rage
Summary: -The voices smugly tells him that the only chance he will get to tell the boy of his feelings./Fuji refuses to reply. Maybe it is because he knows that the voices are right.- Thrill, in which Fuji wins an art competition and gets Ryoma to model for him.


_To my first beta, sono-chan, who taught me the love of writing in the present tense and caught my mistakes. :D_

_To my second beta, Melo, who told me the parts where I should improve on and gave me the hope to re-edit. XD Both of you rock!  
_

_And finally to **Rea**, this is a Thrill fic written just for you, because I totally crashed the last one I worked on. Remember the Akame fanvid that played to the song Promise of a Lifetime? I played that song the entire time I was writing this. (I even got mum to buy the sheets for me so I could play it on the piano.) It's not very angst-like, though. ^^; Thank you so much for introducing me to JE boys (er, more specifically Kame XD)! I also owe you for Thrill, because you corrupted me into Fuji/Ryoma.  
_

_--  
_

"That's a lovely picture you're painting, Syusuke," She peers over his shoulder, interest evident in her blue eyes. "You're really talented, aren't you? Is that the one you're planning to put into the competition that Professor Adrien recommended that you join?"

"I'm not particularly talented, but yes, this is the piece I'm going to enter," Fuji says demurely. He gives the painting a bold stroke along the bottom. "I think your paintings are wonderful too, Claire-san."

"You're such a flatterer," She beams. "Do you want to go out for a drink and maybe take a look at a tennis match at two this afternoon? I hear from the rest of the campus that there will be an informal game between two players, one of them who plays the sport quite well."

Fuji's hand hesitates a little as he places the brush down carefully. "I never realized you watch tennis."

"I only watch it occasionally," Claire admits. "It's hard not to admire all those professional players when they're playing. It makes me a little envious, really." She gives a small laugh.

Just for an instant, Fuji's eyes flash a brilliant blue. It is gone as quickly as it came, hidden by an unassuming smile. "Yes, actually, I would like to go out with you this afternoon. Shall I suggest meeting up just outside the campus at half past one?"

The hugely surprised look on Claire's face makes him smile genuinely in amusement. He is aware that Claire has been trying to get him to go out with her ever since he has come to the university. In fact, Claire is not the only one. Fuji cannot remember how many have asked him out. He does, however, remember that he has politely turned them all down. Claire is probably the first he has agreed to have a coffee with.

"Uh, sure!" She says, a little flustered but pleased. "I'll see you around, then, Syusuke!" She gives him a bright smile, and for a minute Fuji wonders why he keeps on dodging the advances of the fairer sex.

–

"Syu-suke!"

She is dressed in a heavy winter coat, a vivid red scarf wound around her heck. Her hands are in her pockets, but comes out in a wave when she spots him. Fuji waves back and waits as she comes over to him.

"Have you been waiting long?" He asks out of courtesy.

"I only got here a minute ago," Her breath comes out in white puffs as she speaks. "The coffee shop down the street has some amazing drinks. On this cold day, it'll be great to have something hot to warm you up, don't you think so?"

She takes hold of Fuji's hand, pulling him along. Her hand is surprisingly warm and soft to the touch. He lets her lead him along, mainly because he does not know where this coffee shop is. In the three years since he has come to Paris, he realizes that he has not ventured out often. Art has taken up most of his time, and he has kept himself busy with one project or another.

He wonders why.

The coffee shop is a small but bustling place, lively with customers who seek respite from the wintery weather outside. The coffee that he picks randomly from the menu is sweet, creamy and deliciously hot. He cups his hands around the polystyrene mug, feeling the warmth seep into his numb fingers.

"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Claire remarks. She glances at her watch briefly. "It's almost two – the tennis game is going to start soon. Do you want to head over now?"

The only reason why Fuji has agreed to venture from his art is because of the tennis match. He nods and Claire slips her hand into his again. She seems to be enjoying the contact, Fuji notices.

The tiny off-street court is not packed like he is expecting it to be, but he puts it down to the weather. People mill around chatting to each other as they wait for the game to start. Some have tennis bags with them – perhaps they are thinking of using the court after the scheduled game. For a moment, Fuji feels a flash of regret that he has not brought his own racket along. It has been a long time since he has played tennis, and ever since he left the Seigaku tennis team, he has not found anyone who challenges him enough to truly engage him in a game. It is a pity, really. Fuji would've welcomed a change from sitting in front of an easel every day.

The cheers start and Claire gives his hand a little squeeze. The players have arrived, and the excitement of the game is rising in the crowd. Fuji finds that he has to stand a little taller in an attempt to look over the heads of the crowd. He can see one of the players, a tall, wiry man of about thirty years, but the other player is obscured from his sight. He frowns a little in annoyance. Claire, seeing his frown, starts to move to the front, pulling him along with little 'excuse me's.

When Fuji finally catches a sight of the second player, he feels as if the ground has just fallen away from underneath his feet. Even through the sunglasses and the cap covering the hair, Fuji knows him. It is a face he hasn't seen for three years, a face that he knows he will never be able to forget, even if he wanted to. It brings back a rush of treasured memories, and he smiles.

The game starts with Ryoma giving his opponent the advantage. It seems like he is confident of his win. Murmurs spread as people wonder about his height (Fuji chuckles when he realizes that he still has a tiny height advantage over the chibi) and the fact that he seems to be smirking all the time.

"Who do you think will win, Syusuke?" Claire asks. "Dante has such a big height advantage, don't you think so? Will the new player be able to hold his own?"

So the opponent was named Dante. In a way, Fuji is already extending his condolences for him. "I like to support the underdog," Fuji remarks casually. His eyes are wide open now, shining with anticipation.

"Really?" Claire is surprised. "I never thought you would – you like to win too much."

But the reason why Fuji knows that Dante will lose is because, simply, his opponent is Ryoma. His faith in the boy's prowess is unshakeable.

The match doesn't even take an hour. In twenty minutes, Dante loses without even scoring a point. The crowd is stunned into pure silence. _Who is this person? _Fuji hears whispers from behind him. _That's incredible!_

Ryoma looks around, and apparently fails to see Fuji's face amongst the crowd. He has a dissatisfied frown on his face. With a scowl that looks like black thunder, he starts to march back to his tennis bag, obviously intending to pack up and leave.

"I want a match."

Fuji is not in the best of conditions after having been cooped up in the art university, but he is determined and eager to try. He shrugs off his winter coat and hands it to Claire, who is looking at him in astonishment. The weather is bitingly cold – he suppresses a shiver as he walks onto the courts and faces the young man who was once the young prodigy of their tennis team. He sees the surprised expression on his face, and he knows that Ryoma has recognized him.

For a long moment, neither speaks. Then, slowly, Ryoma reaches up and removes his sunglasses. The bright gold eyes that Fuji knows so well is wide with disbelief. A wide grin spreads across his face as he realizes that he has found a challenge. "You're up for playing in this weather?"

"I'll have to borrow one of your extra rackets," Fuji adds. "I seem to have forgotten mine."

Ryoma tosses him one, and the game begins.

* * *

For a moment, Ryoma cannot believe his eyes as Fuji steps out from the crowd. Somehow, he has missed seeing his former senpai amongst the people that are watching. As Fuji hands his coat over to a woman he does not recognize, he feels his heart start pounding away at a ridiculous pace. He simply stares, seeing that Fuji is as slight and as pale as he was when the Seigaku tennis team separated. His honey brown hair is a little longer, making him look more beautiful than what Ryoma remembered. With a little twang of disappointment, he notices that he is still shorter than his former senpai – not by much, but still shorter.

He finally removes his sunglasses, a grin on his face. "You're up for playing in this weather?"

"I'll have to borrow one of your extra rackets," Fuji still remembers that Ryoma totes around at least three spare rackets (all of them red). "I seem to have forgotten mine."

Ryoma is more than happy to loan out one of his rackets. He knows that it will probably come back to him broken, or shattered, but he figures that he can use it to blackmail his senpai. He passes his best spare to Fuji.

* * *

It is an intense game from the beginning. Neither have lost their competitive streak, and the sheer joy of playing tennis again, playing the sport he loves, is making Fuji exhilarated. The chill evaporates from the heat of his body as he runs after the ball. The racket fits snugly in his hand, but it is nothing like his old one. He tries out his counters on Ryoma one after the other, just to test that he hasn't forgotten to do them all. He is not surprised when Ryoma returns them all, but he is quick to devise new ones to compensate. The awed murmurings of the crowd fades as Fuji immerses himself into the game completely. It has been a long time since Fuji could let himself go in a tennis game like this, and he is enjoying himself too much to worry about anything else. Across the court, Ryoma is throwing him challenge after challenge – Fuji responds to each and every one with an intensity that throbs with every sound the ball makes when it hits the ground.

And then, there is a hollow sound, and instead of the pressure Fuji expects when he hits the ball, there is a weightless feeling. The racket swings effortlessly through the air, and he blinks in surprise.

"...Oh."

He looks down at the broken strings. The ball is rolling innocently away, as if eager to get out of the battle-zone.

"You're going to have to pay for new strings," Ryoma meets his eyes with a smirk. "I just had it changed last month, you know."

"Shall I offer you lunch and consider it paid?" Fuji replies with a mischievous grin.

Ryoma pretends to consider it. "It depends on the lunch. And if you have Ponta."

Fuji knows exactly where to get Ponta, even though he does not drink it himself. "It's a done deal then. I know just the place to go."

He hands the racket back to Ryoma. Both of them are sweaty from the game, and Fuji does not feel the cold at all. The warmth is still coursing through his body, making his cheeks flush. He feels more alive in this one moment than he has been the last three years. It is a feeling he wants to hold on to.

He hears a tittering of applause, and with a faint trace of surprise he becomes aware that he is surrounded by the crowd that came to see Ryoma play. It has more than doubled in number, and all of them look quite impressed.

"That was very cool, Syusuke!" Claire comes up to him. Her eyes are shining with admiration as she hands him his coat. He puts it on immediately, making a mental note to drop it into the laundry once he gets home. "I didn't know you could play tennis so well!"

Fuji ducks his head in embarrassment. "Well, I didn't have much chance to play when I was doing my art."

"You really should play more often, you know? The girls are going to fall harder for you!" Claire beams. "You were so passionate out on the court!"

Passionate? Fuji pauses to think about it. He enjoys tennis and he loves it, and in a way he supposes that he really is passionate about it. He loves art too, but it is a different passion from tennis. At least, that is what he thinks.

"So, if you're taking me out for lunch you'd better do it soon, otherwise I'll be counting on a dinner as well," Ryoma drawls from behind him.

Claire gives the young tennis player a puzzled glance. "Do you know Syusuke?"

Ryoma's golden eyes flicker to Fuji's face, as if asking for a hint on how to answer.

"I'm offering to take him out for a meal because I broke the racket strings," Fuji explains hastily. "I'll catch you with you at the university later."

Claire merely looks a little confused. "Okay...see you later, then."

She leaves the park with a few backward glances. The crowd breaks up as well, a couple of them coming over to congratulate the pair for an excellent game. Ryoma gives his former senpai an amused look.

"So, where is this meal going to be?"

"Hmm, I'll have to think about it," Fuji teases. "To tell the truth, I don't know my way around Paris at all."

"That's terrible, Fuji-senpai," Ryoma slips easily into the old term like they have not been apart for years. "I'm surprised you managed to survive at all."

"It's not too hard," Fuji comments lightly as he falls into step beside the young man. "How about you? Weren't you supposed to be playing tennis in the States?"

Ryoma makes a sound that is suspiciously like a snort. "I was, until I decided to take a break. I've been flying all around Europe playing street tennis for the last few weeks. I'll be heading back in a soon, though. My agent's going to come and pick me up. He's not very happy with me...or so he claims."

Fuji is not _really_ lying when he says he knows exactly where to go. He just has a little difficulty in finding the place, especially since he's only been there once, when he first came to Paris. It was recommended to him by a friend, and he found the food enjoyable. At last, he locates it after asking some passer-bys and following seemingly random signposts.

"Your French sounds excellent," Ryoma comments as he looks around the comfy restaurant. There are small tables separated by paper partitions that do nothing to stop the chatter from seeping into the immediate environment, but at least it provides a degree of privacy. Ryoma looks impressed as he peruses the menu and finds Ponta on it, as promised.

"After three years in Paris of speaking nothing but French and English, I'd expect to find myself pretty fluent at it," Fuji replies wryly. He orders for both of them when the waiter arrives and Ryoma adds in a double order for Ponta. The poor boy has been quite distressed at the lack of Ponta when flying around Europe. At least in the States he could get his agent to order some for him.

"How has your career in the States been? Is it a nice place?" Fuji props his chin on his hand and looks at Ryoma expectantly. The boy shrugs.

"The first few matches were disappointing," He concedes. "I don't think they expected I could hold my own in the bigger tournaments, but that's to be expected, I guess. After I smashed the first twenty matches, they decided I was worth a second glance, and sent an agent to follow up. After I proved to the agent that yes, I could hold a racket and yes, I could actually _win, _he signed me on and it's just been tournament after tournament since then."

"Isn't it nice to be doing the one thing you love?" Fuji smiles.

"Why haven't _you _been playing tennis?"

"I've been doing an art degree, that's why. It does take up more of my time than tennis. I've got to hand in a piece tomorrow for the competitions, and I haven't even finished it yet." He sighs and complains to the amused boy about the competitions.

They chat about tennis over the food when it comes, and about their lives when they were apart. Fuji tells Ryoma about Tezuka and Oishi and Eiji who have kept in touch with him more regularly than they have been with Ryoma, and in return the boy tells him about Momo and Kaidoh and surprisingly, Atobe as well. They laugh and talk and it feels familiar and comfortable. Then quite suddenly, with one sentence, Ryoma drops an unexpected bombshell into the conversation.

"...and then Oyaji started pestering me about finding a girlfriend," Ryoma states simply. "It is a little annoying really, especially when he started introducing me to women I'd never seen before."

Fuji pauses almost imperceptibly in the middle of putting down his napkin. "That sounds like a handful."

Ryoma continues as if oblivious to the look on Fuji's face. "Oyaji seems to think that I'll marry Angela within the next three months – which is ridiculous, of course – after all, I only meet her twice a week for a friendly tennis match. If nothing else, she plays a mean game of tennis." There is a tone of grudging admiration in the boy's tone that Fuji finds himself disliking, so he merely nods politely in response. Suddenly, it seems like he has run out of words to say.

"Fuji-senpai, who was that woman with you at the park?" Ryoma asks abruptly. "Does she go to the same university?"

"Claire-san? Yes, she does. We've been going out for quite some time now," Fuji lies easily. "She does lovely art."

Ryoma gives him a long look, but says nothing else. Fuji pays the bill (Ryoma reluctantly declares the debt of his racket strings paid) and they leave the cosy restaurant, back out into the chilly Parisian weather. It is late in the afternoon – the sun is glowing a wonderful amber that Fuji fails to notice as they walk side by side without a particular destination in mind.

"Then...I guess I'll leave you to finish up your painting tonight, then," Ryoma says with a tiny smile as he stops outside a hotel. Fuji guesses that it's where he is staying while in Paris.

"Will you be busy tomorrow?" Fuji asks, hoping that Ryoma would say no.

Ryoma considers for a moment. "Yes, actually. I have to meet with my agent tomorrow morning so we can fly back to the States as soon as possible."

"You're going back tomorrow?" Fuji's heart sinks.

"Maybe," Silence stretches between them and it starts to get a little awkward. Fuji shoves his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Well, it's been great to see you again," He smiles a tad too brightly. He fervently hopes that the boy doesn't notice, because it feels like it is the fakest smile that he has ever plastered on. "Keep in touch when you fly back, okay? At least now I can brag that I'm friends with the famous tennis player Echizen Ryoma."

"Yes, well, let me tell you I'm not confident about winning if I'm playing against you," Ryoma grumbles. Fuji laughs softly at that. The boy is complimenting him – what an astonishing thing. It seems like three years has done a lot to change him. Fuji wonders if he has changed too.

* * *

Ryoma watches Fuji walk down the sidewalk, his hair the only colour above his long black coat. It has been a most unexpected event, meeting Fuji Syusuke in Paris. After the regulars left Seigaku's tennis team, Ryoma had not been very diligent in keeping tabs on where his team mates had gone. It has been a pleasant surprise to meet his former senpai on a tennis court again. Ryoma has almost forgotten the euphoria that only playing with Fuji can bring. It is not quite the same with anyone else – not Tezuka, not Atobe, not Kentaro. It is more than tennis, Ryoma muses as he lets himself into his hotel room.

He looks at his watch as he closes the door behind him. His agent should be here soon.

* * *

It is almost dark when Fuji arrives back at the campus. He goes straight to the art room, because Professor Adrien has a room open all night just for the students taking part in the competitions. His fingers are burning with the desire to paint. He finds himself wanting to fill his mind with something – _anything – _that will blot out the thoughts of the dark-haired boy with his determined golden eyes. He walks into the room, and sees the painting that he has been working on. All of a sudden, it looks dull and bland to his eyes. The colours weave together so well that they seem to mix and become a grey mass that holds no appeal to him. Frustrated, he sits before it, trying to figure out a way to fix it so he can hand it in tomorrow.

Then, unexpectedly, he removes the canvas. He knows what he will submit to the competitions. The painting he was working on is unsalvageable. He has spent a lot of time on that, he knows, but it simply cannot reflect what he is feeling right now. He puts it aside and starts with a fresh canvas, beginning painting with a fervour that he has not felt for a long time. It is a different desire from painting; what he is doing is merely trying to express his wishes through the act of applying colour to a washed-out canvas. He sits there and lets his emotions take over his fingers, taking no heed of time. He is confident he will finish before the morning.

He _has _to finish before morning.

As he paints, a part of his mind tells him to go after the boy right after he completes the task. He quells the voices by telling it that it is late, and that it is not safe to go out this late at night.

The voices retorts that it is not every day he will encounter Echizen Ryoma in Paris.

Fuji snaps back that if he wishes to see an Echizen Ryoma, he would take time off and go to the States.

The voices smugly tells him that the only chance he will get to tell the boy of his feelings.

Fuji refuses to reply. Maybe it is because he knows that the voices are right.

* * *

"It was highly irresponsible of you to take off without warning."

Ryoma cocks open one bleary eye. "Aren't you done ranting yet?"

"I do _not _rant, Ryoma. I'm merely letting you know that now you're a professional player, you have obligations and duties to fulfil!" Ryoma briefly thinks that his agent should have taken up a role in acting. He really is quite the dramatic person. "Have you any idea the number of matches I had to cancel because you were off somewhere in Europe? I couldn't even contact you because you'd left your mobile behind! If you hadn't called me two days ago, I would've had to cancel your entry into the nationals, too!"

Ryoma hadn't wanted to miss the nationals, which was why he had forced himself to make the call. "And now that you're here, we can fly back in time for the nationals, right?" For some odd reason, Ryoma is feeling decidedly grumpy. He puts it down to nerves, even though he rarely gets nervous before big matches. He is too arrogant for that.

"I'll book a flight out first thing tomorrow morning," His agent confirms. "You still have training you have to do - "

Ryoma sits up suddenly. He has remembered a tiny detail. "No, not tomorrow morning. Schedule it for tomorrow evening."

The agent starts to protest, but Ryoma ignores the man's squawking. He has something he has to do tomorrow morning, and as usual, he expects the world to reschedule around him.

* * *

Professor Adrien gives the painting a startled look. "I didn't think you were into this method of painting, Syusuke."

"I thought I'd try something new," Fuji replies. "I thought it was best to go with the method that I felt most comfortable with."

"Well, it certainly is very striking," The professor is looking at the painting with a touch of admiration. "The judging will only take a few minutes, so you can check your results at the museum if you wish, after 10 AM. You'll know you've won if your portrait is hanging in the under-20's area."

As Fuji buttons up his coat, he knows that he will not be going to the museum. He has spent the entire night painting, and now he is exhausted and sleepy. He heads back to his room, fully intending to crash and pass out and not emerge until late at night. Then maybe he can forget that Ryoma is going back to the States today. The voices in his head, after nagging him the whole night, has finally fallen silent. Even then, Fuji wonders if he should have taken the chance like it has suggested. Is it too late for regret?

* * *

The taxi rumbles to a stop outside the museum. Ryoma gets out, closely followed by his agent who disapproves of the delay, but can do nothing to stop him. He strides into the building, casting only a brief look at his watch which reads 10:30 AM. The museum doesn't seem very crowded, although he does get some odd looks when he enters, which puzzles him slightly. Are they wondering why a professional tennis player is taking the time off to browse through an art gallery?

"Where is the section where they hold art competitions?" Ryoma asks his agent, conveniently overlooking the fact that his agent has only arrived in Paris last night.

His agent is decidedly more people-friendly than the tennis player, and he soon gets the directions out of a museum co-ordinator. Ryoma strides purposefully towards the area. He remembers what Fuji told him last night about the competition he is taking part in, and he has to find out if his senpai has won or not.

As he walks along, he notices that he is getting a lot of strange looks. People whisper to one another and hurriedly move aside as he strides past. He finds that decidedly odd. What are they all whispering about, anyway? Perhaps he has his shirt inside out, or something funny on his face? He looks at his agent, but his agent only looks blankly back. No, it isn't anything to do with his shirt or face. Hmm.

He enters the gallery and the first thing he is aware of is the people wandering around. It seems like the competition has attracted quite a few people. He looks at the paintings closest to the entrance – they were not the originals, but simply copies that have not won anything. He moves along, acutely aware of the hushed whispers. If anything, it is louder here than when he was coming in!

When he rounds the corner, he finally realizes why everyone was pointing. Displayed where it is showed with the most favourable conditions is a portrait.

Of himself.

He walks over to it, speechless. The portrait of himself has a familiar-looking cat in his arms – a fluffy-furred Himalayan cat with a dark face and bright eyes. It is done with exquisite detail, but the eyes are the most captivating of all. It stands out boldly from the rest; golden, demanding attention and getting it. It makes the portrait almost alarmingly lifelike, and so real it feels as if Ryoma is standing before a flesh-and-blood double of himself. For a moment, he fails to see the caption underneath the portrait that states 'Prince – Syusuke Fuji. _First_ _place'_. He has eyes only for the portrait, and not just because he is vain. Underneath the facade of colours that make him up, he knows what Fuji is trying to say in this painting of his. He _knows, _but he wants to get Fuji to tell him before he leaves.

Abruptly, he turns and starts to run out of the museum. He hears his agent calling out behind him, startled. Ryoma does not know where the art university is – he only knows the name. He hails a cab and jumps in, gabbling out the name of the university in a rush.

"As fast as you can, please," he adds and throws some bills to the driver as an incentive. As the taxi squeals out, he catches a sight of his agent coming out of the museum, and he winces a little. Oh. His agent must think he is running away, he thinks in slight amusement. He shall have to win the nationals to make him happy again.

The taxi screeches to a stop in record time in front of a massively large building that Ryoma has never seen before. He tips the driver generously and sets off without the slightest clue as to where he could find Fuji. He goes in through what he assumes is the main entrance, but then finds himself outside a row of lecture halls, with a few students looking at him in surprise, wondering why a foreigner has suddenly burst into the corridor. He sets off in what he prays fervently are the art rooms.

He hears a door opening and is stopped by a voice.

"Excuse me? Are you the tennis player from yesterday?"

He spins around. A woman is looking at him a little curiously, and it takes him a few seconds to place her face with a name.

"You're Claire," he says as her voice clicks in his mind.

A smile spreads across her face. She is pleased that he remembers.

"Yes, I am. Why are you here, er - "

"Ryoma."

"Why are you here, Ryoma?" She asks politely.

"Well...have you seen Fuji?"

"Syusuke?" She places a finger to her chin and frowns. "I know he was up all night doing a painting for the competitions, and he wasn't in classes this morning. Maybe he just dropped from exhaustion and is sleeping it off?"

"Do you know where his room is?" Ryoma asks quickly.

"Yes, I do. Are you a friend of his?"

"I want to congratulate him on winning first place in the competitions," Ryoma says the first thing that comes to mind. Claire claps her hands together in delight.

"All right, I'll bring you to his room – wait, let me tell the professor I've got to take a break - " She leans back into the lecture hall and says something in rapid French, then she is back again, walking down the corridor. Ryoma follows her closely, wondering how to get rid of her once he has found Fuji. He definitely does not want her listening in to what he has to tell his senpai.

They end up in a fairly quiet building, and Ryoma notices that there are no classes here, only single rooms. They walk along until they come to a door numbered 4155. Claire knocks quietly on the door, then pauses.

"Who's there?" a voice says in French, and although Ryoma does not comprehend the words, he recognizes the tone.

"Claire, and your friend," Claire responds in English. "You're not sick, are you?"

A pause.

"Come in then. The door's unlocked."

Claire opens the door and goes in. Ryoma hesitates. Is he allowed in as well?

The place is neat and clean. The curtains are tucked back and light floods the room and makes it cheery. For some obscure reason, Ryoma is expecting to find a dark, vampiric room with jeans and sweaters scattered on the floor. He feels a little sheepish.

Fuji is leaning on the kitchen counter, his hair unruly and mussed. _He must've just gotten up from bed,_ Ryoma guesses. He is wearing a white shirt, but it is unbuttoned as the room is out-fitted with heating. Ryoma gulps a little.

"I just stayed up too late doing the painting," Fuji is saying to Claire. "If I'd gone to lectures this morning, I'll just be dozing off. I won first place in the competitions? You didn't go down to the museum to look, did you? I thought you had lectures."

"I did, but your friend came and told me," Claire looks happy – like how the girlfriend of a gifted artist should look, Ryoma thinks.

Fuji looks up, and freezes when he sees Ryoma standing uncertainly by the door. Of all the people he is expecting, Ryoma is last on that list. If Ryoma was the friend that Claire had mentioned telling her about the results...

He swallows a little. "You saw...the portrait?"

Ryoma nods. For some reason, Fuji feels ridiculously embarrassed. He flushes a delicate red.

"Syusuke?" Claire sounds concerned. "Are you sure you're not sick?"

"I'm fine," he mumbles. He seems to be looking at everything but Ryoma. "Why don't you head back to lectures, Claire? You wouldn't want to miss too much of it."

Claire looks from him to Ryoma. Somehow, she senses that there is something she should not be intruding in at the moment. Quietly, she leaves, and not for the first time, Fuji is grateful that Claire is devoted enough to heed his requests without complaint.

"Don't you have something to tell me?" Ryoma crosses his arms and casually positions himself in front of the door.

_Tell him!_

_Tell him what?! I don't have anything to say!_

_You're a bad liar. You were tossing up about whether you should call and tell him you like him! Now he's here, and you're just going to let it go past?_

Fuji groans. He reckons that he is the only one in the university that seems to have two voices independently shouting at each other in his head.

"Is something wrong, Fuji-senpai?"

"No, nothing," he manages.

_TELL HIM!_

"I don't want you to go."

Fuji wonders if he is insane for blurting that out.

"Congratulations on winning," Ryoma says wryly.

Yes, Fuji decides, this conversation is not really making any sense to him. Taking a deep breath, he makes the decision to take a step forward, and tells the voice in his head to shut the heck up so he can think.

"This may sound a little odd..."

Bad beginning. He tries again.

"What I really meant was..."

What _did _he really mean?

Ryoma is looking at him a little expectantly. Fuji sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"Would you like to live with me?" He asks suddenly, a little hopefully.

"Fuji-senpai...you live on university campus," Ryoma points out blandly.

"I'll be graduating soon," Fuji adds.

"I have to fly back today," Ryoma reminds him unhelpfully.

"Oh, dash it!" The last of Fuji's reserve shatters. Taking two quick steps, he comes around the kitchen counter that is standing in his way. Before Ryoma can escape out the door, he finds himself enveloped in a tight hug. Something warm and soft plants itself on his left cheek, and he wrinkles his eyes up in protest.

"Let me try rephrasing," Fuji settles his chin comfortably on Ryoma's shoulder, figuring that he might as well go all the way now that he has given the boy a tentative kiss on the cheek (and has not been slapped – yet). "Shall I make a proposal? I think you would make an excellent model, so if you model for me, I shall make enough money to be able to get a place of my own. Will you move in with me then?"

"You could've said that earlier," Ryoma smirks against Fuji's shirt. "But what about Claire-san?"

"I lied," Fuji confesses, now shamelessly enjoying himself.

"I figured as much," Ryoma drapes his arms around Fuji's neck. "It was only because I mentioned Angela, no?" Ryoma rather likes making Fuji jealous.

"Mmm," Fuji refuses to commit himself to an answer. "When do I get to start your second portrait?" He teases.

Ryoma gives him a wicked smile. "Why, we can do it now if you want. Do you want my shirt on or off?

--

Owari

_Constructive criticism much welcomed. Rea, the gun and bullets have been hidden somewhere where you can't find it. 8D_

_Any further mistakes are made solely by me. I don't own PoT. Shouldn't this disclaimer be at the top of the page?_

_First edit: 13/7 _

_terrorofthehighway, thank you for your criticism! :) I do wish you weren't anonymous so I could reply. XD  
_


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